


past echoes in the future

by Chocchi



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Miscommunication, Persona 3 Spoilers, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocchi/pseuds/Chocchi
Summary: Shinjiro turns up at Akihiko's door in early March.“It’s been a while, Shinji.”“Yeah,” Shinjiro snorted. “A while. That’s a bit of an understatement, isn’t it?”





	past echoes in the future

The reality of the situation was that it was such a hot mess that there wasn’t much sense in pointing fingers. Shinjiro found himself trying to make excuses anyway. The key word was “try.”

The best he could come up with was that it really was very late, that first night. Even if he started looking for Akihiko as soon as he remembered everything, Shinjiro still had a hell of a time tracking him down. The stars were out and had been for a while by the time Shinjiro knocked on the apartment door. He was exhausted and still muzzy from various metaphysical levels of awakening, and it didn’t occur to him to be alarmed when Akihiko only blinked tiredly at him across the threshold.

“Hey,” Shinjiro said. Akihiko didn’t say anything; just studied him wearily. “Can I come in?”

Akihiko made a noncommittal humming sound, but stepped to the side enough to let Shinjiro enter. Shinjiro glanced around the apartment as he took off his shoes. It was small and too-clean, at odds with the several weeks Akihiko had supposedly been living in it.

“Don’t tell me you had some sort of life-changing revelation and now you’re a tidy person,” Shinjiro said, lightly, watching Akihiko carefully for a reaction. Akihiko was watching him back. His gaze was still dull-eyed, but the corner of his mouth ticked up a bit.

“I don’t spend a lot of time here,” he said, quietly.

“College must be keeping you busy, then,” Shinjiro said.

“Mm. Something like that,” Akihiko said. He turned away from Shinjiro, into the tiny kitchenette, and fiddled with something on the counter. “It’s been a while, Shinji.”

“Yeah,” Shinjiro snorted. “A while. That’s a bit of an understatement, isn’t it?”

Akihiko’s hands tightened on—the handle of a kettle, that was an electric kettle he was holding. Shinjiro squinted at it in suspicion.

“What’s that for? Don’t tell me you’re a tea person now too. Almost fifteen fucking years I know you and all the sudden you decide to be an organized tea person?”

“Shinji,” Akihiko interrupted. His shoulders were hunched up around his ears, the muscles in his back tensed. “Can you—can you not do this tonight? I’m really tired, I don’t….”

“Shit,” Shinjiro mumbled. “Sorry, sorry.”

Akihiko took a deep breath and let it out on a shuddery exhale.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Shinjiro said, even though all he wanted was to cross the kitchen and wrap Akihiko up in himself the way they did when they were younger, limbs entangled under blankets, cocooned away from the things that would hurt them. “But, uh, I was kind of counting on crashing on your couch tonight.”

Akihiko gave him a confused look, but shrugged loosely. “Okay.”

“Where are your… Do you even have spare blankets?”

“Yes,” Akihiko said. “Mitsuru made sure, in case she ever comes over. They’re in—they’re in the hall closet.”

“Okay,” Shinjiro said. He went off to investigate the hall closet. It was a small hall, plenty close that he could still hear the quiet clatter of Akihiko making himself a cup of tea as he dug around for blankets. “What kind?”

“Hm?”

“The tea. What kind? You never wanted to drink the stuff Kirijo and I made.”

“Oh,” Akihiko said. “It’s, uh. Chamomile and lavender. Takeba told me to try it.”

“And?”

“Hm?”

“Geez, you’re a space cadet tonight. And do you like it?”

Akihiko huffed out a weak laugh, barely recognizable. “Not really. Smells kinda nice, I guess.”

“If you don’t like it, why are you drinking it? Just tell Takeba it’s no good.”

“‘M not drinking it for the taste,” Akihiko muttered, just as Shinjiro reemerged with an armful of spare blanket. His shoulders were tense again, eyes trained down on the mug in front of him. Shinjiro frowned.

“What do you need an herbal remedy for? I didn’t think you believed in all that shit.”

“For fuck’s sake, Shinjiro, can you just give me a break?” Akihiko finally snapped, voice cracking on the last word. Shinjiro flinched back, startled; Akihiko’s cheeks had gone a hot red, the mortified flush he always got when he was upset.

“Okay, okay. Alright.” Shinjiro retreated back to the couch. In the cramped apartment, it was only a few meters of extra space between them. “Sorry. Goodnight, Aki.”

As he swaddled himself in the blanket and curled around a couch cushion, Akihiko exhaled again, shakily, and mumbled, “Goodnight, Shinji.”

 

Shinjiro surprised himself by sleeping through Akihiko leaving the apartment. His brain probably decided Akihiko’s apartment was a safe space where he could crash and catch up on lost hours of rest. He didn’t need the hypervigilance of sleeping on the streets on Akihiko’s couch, but he doubted it would stay at bay for long—he should just be grateful now and try to be ready for the panic and insomnia when it inevitably returned.

Akihiko hadn’t left him a note or anything, which surprised him a little, because even at the dorm Akihiko had forever been sticking post-it notes on his door or sliding scraps of paper underneath it. Shinjiro knew, rationally, that he had been... _gone_ a while, and Akihiko would need some time to adjust to him coming back. Didn’t mean it didn’t sting, though.

“Okay,” Shinjiro sighed. He eyed Akihiko’s sad, unused coffee maker, with a probably-unopened canister of coffee grounds next to it. Coffee first, then make opportune use of Akihiko’s shower, then…What was he going to do next? Where did he go from _coming out of a goddamn coma?_ He needed to come up with a plan, a real plan. All he had before was _find Akihiko_ and now he had done that, with no next step ready.

He got the coffeemaker started while he mulled it over. School, probably, he decided over the machine’s gurgling. He should still have time to negotiate his way back into the system before the new term started. He could try to re-register at Gekkoukan, or commute to a public school if he had to. He was going to have to retake his third year. He couldn’t see any way around it. Maybe also a job, to help Aki pay the bills on the apartment.

He wouldn’t be around the apartment much this way, but then, apparently neither was Akihiko.

He did manage to re-register at Gekkoukan, that afternoon, which was pleasantly surprising. He wondered if Akihiko had already texted the underclassmen and Mitsuru to let them know Shinjiro had gotten his ass back into the real world. To be fair, most of them didn’t know him very well. Still, Amada had been pretty upset when he died. Kid deserved to know he was around again.

He prowled the Port Island station mall that evening, eyeing storefronts for hiring notices, before heading back to Akihiko’s apartment. He knocked but then just turned the knob, stepping inside.

Akihiko turned to give him a bemused look over his shoulder. He was at the kitchen counter, nursing what looked like an instant ramen cup.

“You look awful,” Shinjiro said, because he did, with dark bags under his eyes and an exhausted sag to his limbs.

“Go fuck yourself,” Akihiko replied, which Shinjiro figured he more or less deserved.

“You first, buddy.” He took a few steps into the kitchen and peered around. “I don’t suppose you have another one of those lying around?”

“Never thought I’d see the day Aragaki Shinjiro asked for instant ramen,” Akihiko said, around a mouthful of noodles. “Right cabinet. Still hot water in the kettle. Help yourself.”

“I’m not going to be fussy,” Shinjiro said. “At least not until we’ve got some grocery money.”

Akihiko snorted around a mouthful of noodles.

As he poured the hot water into the cup, Shinjiro added, snidely, “ _Itadakimasu,_ ” and gave Akihiko a little bow.

“Jackass,” Akihiko said, but his lips twitched up a bit.

 

“How are the others?” Shinjiro asked, the next night. He tried to come back earlier in the evening, but Akihiko was out until late, and had only looked more exhausted to see Shinjiro when he came back.

“They’re alright,” Akihiko said. He haphazardly threw the switch on the kettle and grabbed an instant noodle cup from the cupboard. Shinjiro wasn’t sure the kitchen had anything but instant noodle cups, tea, and the coffee Akihiko didn’t drink in it. “Getting by. Did I tell you the twins are in the hospital?”

“The fuck?” Shinjiro barked, badly startling Akihiko, who stared at him with wide eyes. “Shit. Sorry. Goddammit. Are they okay?”

“Seems like it,” Akihiko said, but he was chewing on his lower lip nervously. “They collapsed back at the beginning of the month. They’re awake now, at least. Nobody’s really sure what’s wrong, but they seem to do better the closer together they’re kept, so the hospital has them sharing a room.”

“That’s fucking terrifying.”

“I know,” Akihiko said, then, “I really thought I told you.”

“Aki, you’ve barely talked to me at all these last few days.”

Akihiko flinched, eyes skittering away to any corner of the kitchenette that was away from Shinjiro. The kettle saved Shinjiro from trying to figure out a follow-up by whistling loudly. Akihiko snatched the instant ramen and a pair of chopsticks and beat a hasty retreat out of the kitchen.

Shinjiro rubbed his temples tiredly. Akihiko obviously didn’t want to talk tonight, either, so there was no point trying to push it.

 

The pattern held.

Shinjiro woke up late to a deserted apartment. He explored the city in search of job openings, then came back to the apartment in the afternoon to find Akihiko still out. Akihiko would come home late, and they would exchange minimal conversation over a balanced dinner of instant ramen cups.

Shinjiro wondered if it was the only real meal Akihiko was eating every day, the way it was for him.

 

On the fifth day, Shinjiro decided to shake things up.

“Shinjiro-senpai!” Hamuko cried, struggling to sit up in the bed. Minato stirred under the covers, beside her.

“Don’t push yourself,” Shinjiro scolded. He gave Hamuko’s shoulder a light shove until she settled back against the pillows with a pout. Her hair was a loose, frizzy mess curling and cascading over her shoulders, and Minato’s was sticking up at odd angles with his roots showing, and they were _both_ too pale, but they were awake and cognizant of their surroundings and Shinjiro couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped.

“I was waiting for you to come say hi,” she told him. “I asked the doctors and they said you weren’t here anymore.”

“That could have meant I was dead, Arisato-chan.”

“Nuh-uh,” Hamuko said, looking entirely too pleased with herself for someone hooked up to an IV drip and evidently too frail to stand on her own. Minato rolled over to squint at Shinjiro, then settled back against his twin’s side with a tired grumble. “Don’t mind Mina-chan, he’s just sleepy.”

“What _happened_ to you two?”

She pursed her lips. “It’s hard to explain. The final fight against Nyx...”

“I saw that part,” Shinjiro said, warily, although he couldn’t have explained how or what exactly had happened if pressed. Everything he had seen from the coma was fuzzy and disconnected, like a dream--which it very well could have been. It was like he had been trapped in the Dark Hour since October. “I think.”

“Mhm,” Hamuko said. Her eyes crinkled up with her smile. “We heard you.”

“Oh. Uh. Good.”

“The great seal….” Hamuko let her weight sink into the pillows, gaze drifting to the middle distance. Her eyes unfocused, although her smile didn’t leave. “To seal Nyx away, we had to give something. It was only fair.”

“Arisato,” Shinjiro said, throat tight. “What did you have to give?”

“Our souls, essentially.”

“The hell?!”

“One fool’s soul,” Hamuko said, almost dreamily. “To be exact. With infinite possibility….”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about but if you don’t have a fucking soul anymore—“

“That’s the thing. It only needed one soul. So between the two of us, we managed to...split the burden, as it were.”

“ _Split the_ —“

“Half,” she said, “From me. And half from him. So now….”

“You have half a fucking soul,” Shinjiro said.

“It’s not so bad, Senpai,” she said, eyes slowly re-focusing on him. She gave him a dizzy smile. “It feels a little, um...Loose. I don’t know how else to explain it. I feel more solid when I’m with Mina-chan, and he said he feels the same way with me. If it had only been one of us…I don’t think we’d still be here, if our whole soul went away. I think we kind of stabilize each other.”

“This is a head trip and a half,” Shinjiro muttered. It was giving him a damn headache to think about. He could only imagine how much worse it was _living_ it.

“But you believe me?” Hamuko asked, anxiously.

“What? Of course I do.”

“Thank you,” she sighed.

“Do the others not…”

“They do,” she said, waving her free hand dismissively. “I mean, of course they do, or at least they’re trying. But they don’t…”

“They don’t get it,” Shinjiro said.

“No. And I think maybe you do, a little, Shinjiro-senpai.”

Shinjiro thought about the dream-blurred, messy memories of “seeing” the team while he was in the coma, the way he felt disconnected from a corporeal presence among the others, and grimaced. “Maybe.”

“But we’re still here,” she said. “And so are you.”

“Sometimes I wonder about that,” Shinjiro mumbled. Sometimes it felt like Akihiko was looking right through him. Like he was still a goddamn ghost.

“Well, as far as I can tell you’re here, and I’m pretty pleased about that,” Hamuko said, lips curving into a sweet, guileless smile. Shinjiro grumbled at her, cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I wish someone had told me sooner! How long have you been back?”

“Less than a week. First I had to wake up, then I had to remember, then I had to track Aki’s dumb ass down…”

Hamuko made a sympathetic noise.

“He didn’t tell you, though.”

It hurt more than Shinjiro wanted to admit—that Akihiko was barely talking to him and hadn’t even told their friends he was out of his goddamn coma, that he was okay and walking around and could see them again.

“Akihiko-senpai hasn’t come to visit us in a bit,” Hamuko admitted, brow scrunching. “He’s been passing his regards along through Mitsuru-senpai. I don’t think he’s come to see us since that time.”

“Rotten jerk,” Shinjiro said. It was one thing for Akihiko to be antsy with _him_ , but the twins were good kids and they didn’t deserve that kind of bullshit. “I’ll tell him to come see you.”

“Please do,” Hamuko said. “We’re worried about him.”

So was Shinjiro, for that matter.

They chatted a little more, after that. Shinjiro mentioned his job hunt, and Hamuko advised him to stop by a little bookstore at Port Island station (“It’s called Bookworms,” she said, “And Bunkichi and Mitsuko are so sweet, I bet they miss having us around to dote on, they would love you,” which Shinjiro was very dubious about), and Minato roused for long enough to sign with Shinjiro for a bit, slow and careful and with Hamuko’s giggly translations where they needed the help. Shinjiro had barely tried to start learning JSL before October, and felt a hot flush of mortification for making Minato put up with his awkward, clumsy hand signs now. Minato was a good sport about it.

 _Want more music?_ Shinjiro tried, pointing to Minato’s mp3 player on the side table of the hospital bed.

 _Please_ , Minato signed back.

“Have Junpei put more songs on it,” Hamuko suggested, gleefully.

 _No_ , Minato replied, immediately, then just “ _Y_ ,” which Shinjiro thought meant Yukari but wasn’t one-hundred percent positive. It could have meant Yamagishi. They were both better options than asking Iori. He would have probably have time to clarify before he ran into the other underclassmen again, anyway.

Shinjiro was finally ushered out when visiting hours ended. Hamuko had wrangled a firm promise from him to visit again soon, hopefully with Akihiko in tow next time. It was too late to investigate the bookstore, so Shinjiro went back to the apartment. He felt...settled, somehow. The most real and connected to his body he’d felt all week, he thought dryly, and of course it was when he was with the people least connected to their bodies.

Then again, there was no telling how connected Aki was when he had that dead-eyed look.

“I visited the twins today,” Shinjiro said. “And for fuck’s sake, can you at least buy some carrots or something?”

Akihiko blinked at him languidly and swallowed his mouthful of noodles. “How was your visit?”

“Enlightening. Why haven’t you been visiting them?”

“I’ve been busy,” Akihiko muttered. He finished off the noodles and tossed the empty cup in the trash, which at this point was just a graveyard of empty instant ramen cups and almost nothing else.

“The hell you have,” Shinjiro said. He moved to block off the exit from the kitchenette, leaning his hip against the counter. Akihiko eyed him warily, gaze starting to flicker around in fight-or-flight analysis of their surroundings. “Arisato-chan reminded me of something. You wanna know what it was?”

“Not really.”

“Tch.” Shinjiro would have liked to make him _really_ nervous—he deserved it, at this point—by getting up in Akihiko’s space and using his scant height advantage to its best, but if he tried to move forward now, Akihiko would definitely duck around him and bolt. “College classes haven’t started yet.”

Akihiko’s shoulders hunched. “So?”

“So where the fuck do you go all day?”

“Like you can judge—”

“I can, actually. I’ve been looking for a part-time job. Mostly at Iwatodai and Port Island station, so I can keep working during the school year. Arisato-chan made a suggestion, so I might actually have something figured out by tomorrow.”

Akihiko stared at him, bleakly. Shinjiro jutted his chin out stubbornly.

“That’s where I’ve been during the day. Your turn.”

“Get fucked.”

“You have been such a _shit_ this week,” Shinjiro snarled.

“What do you want from me? I’m—fuck,” Akihiko curled in on himself, and Shinjiro might have felt bad if he wasn’t already seeing red. “I’m doing my goddamn best, why won’t you leave me alone?”

“I have been leaving you alone! Shit, what’s your damage? I realize I didn’t really ask before I started crashing here, but I thought--goddammit, Akihiko, I thought we were best friends for long enough that you’d let me take your fucking couch for a bit while I—“ Shinjiro sucked in a deep breath, let it hiss out through his teeth. Took his beanie off and ran his hand through his hair for good measure. “Do you want me to leave? Is that it? I can go, if you hate having me here that much.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Akihiko snapped. His arms were hugged tight around his ribcage. “That’s the fucking problem.”

“It’s only a problem because you’re making it a problem, you freaking—“

“Shinji, I’m fucking _trying_ —“

“Trying? You won’t talk to me and you haven’t eaten anything but instant ramen in a goddamn week, unless you’re secretly having a salad for lunch every day!”

“Why the fuck should I talk to you? I shouldn’t be talking to you, I shouldn’t—“

“Why not?” Akihiko damn near bared his teeth when Shinjiro took a step closer, lip curling up in a weak snarl. Some of the anger bled out of Shinjiro, replaced by bewilderment. “Akihiko. Why shouldn’t you be talking to me?”

“Don’t do this,” Akihiko said, hollowly. “Don’t make me do this.”

“I—fuck, I won’t even ask you to change anything, just give me _something_ , literally any kind of explanation--”

Akihiko ducked under his arm and bolted out of the kitchen. Shinjiro had half a mind to run after him, but he could hear the bedroom door slamming shut. No point in trying after that.

It took him a long, long time to fall asleep that night, trying to pretend he couldn’t hear hitched sobs through the wall.

 

The next day, Shinjiro chugged down a cup of coffee, poured himself a travel thermos of some more—at least Aki was civilized enough to own one of _those_ —and went straight to Bookworms.

Hamuko was right. Hamuko was frequently right, but hell would freeze over before Shinjiro told her that.

Bunkichi and Mitsuko were thrilled to have him, since he came with the Arisato Seal of Approval, and plied him with melon bread. Shinjiro discreetly pocketed most of it. Maybe he could convince Akihiko to have some bread and shit for dinner, instead of another ramen cup. Bunkichi dragged him into Hagakure to have an “interview” over lunch; Mitsuko had him re-shelve some wayward books as a “trial run.” They both chattered away the whole time.

Shinjiro realized, with some chagrin, that the job was equal parts “bookstore” and “babysitting the elderly.”

That was fine. It would still be a decent part-time job once school started up. There were worse elderly to babysit, and they did seem like good enough people. He and Mitsuko commiserated about convincing people to eat their vegetables, Shinjiro let it slip that Akihiko had had them eating instant ramen for a week, and the next thing he knew Mitsuko was stubbornly insisting he take an advance payment for the week so he could go buy some groceries.

Shinjiro gritted his teeth, swallowed his pride, and took the damn money. He didn’t need anyone’s pity, but it would be nice to eat something that wasn’t slowly corroding his insides with excess sodium. Maybe it was time for him to learn about accepting things could be nice instead of just survivable. Besides, it wasn’t just about him anymore. Whatever the fuck was going on with Akihiko, he was still Shinjiro’s best friend—still the most important piece-of-shit bastard in his life—and hell if Shinjiro wasn’t going to give him a shoulder to lean on, whether he wanted it or not.

That meant vegetables. Whether Akihiko wanted them or not.

Shinjiro went to bed early, with still no sign of Akihiko in the apartment, but left out an apple and a note that said, _Eat this. If I find it in the garbage or the compost your ass is toast_.

 

Interestingly enough, the apple was gone in the morning, and could not be found in the garbage or compost bin.

Shinjiro contemplated this as he left for the bookstore.

 

The apple he left out the next night was still there the next morning, and Akihiko had his hand on the doorknob when Shinjiro, half-awake but full of wrath, slammed a hand over the door to keep it shut and glowered at him. “Forgetting something?”

“Shinji,” Akihiko sighed.

“I’ll tell the twins you aren’t eating properly,” Shinjiro threatened. “And they’ll tell Takeba, who will tell Kirijo, and God help you then.”

“What, are you not enough to strike fear into my heart alone anymore?” Akihiko said, smiling half-heartedly. He gripped the doorknob more firmly. Shinjiro narrowed his eyes and leaned all his weight into the hand he had on the door.

“Well, you know, I haven’t really felt up to rough-housing with you since I got shot in the fucking heart.”

Akihiko flinched, letting go of the doorknob and turning on his heel to march back towards the bedroom.

“Too soon?” Shinjiro called after him. He stomped down on the guilt. This was for Akihiko’s own good, he told himself.

Akihiko whirled back upon him just as quickly. “Too—you fucking died, don’t ‘ _too soon_ ’ me!”

“Only mostly,” Shinjiro said, with a mild shrug.

Akihiko’s lips curled into that half-snarl again, trembling. _No_ , Shinjiro realized. That wasn’t only his lips trembling, that was his whole damn body.

“Hey,” Shinjiro said, alarmed, and tried to reach out for Akihiko. Akihiko flinched again and sprinted to the bedroom. Shinjiro reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose as the door slammed for the second time in as many days.

Great. Just great. This was going great.

 

“He’s like a fucking rabbit,” Shinjiro told Hamuko, tiredly, the next day. She had already informed him that Akihiko still hadn’t come by to visit them. “Just bolts any time I get close to him. I don’t think we’ve been in the same room for more than five minutes since the night I showed up.”

“That’s odd,” Hamuko said, thoughtfully.

“Didn’t realize he was that glad to be done with me, before,” Shinjiro grumbled. He slouched in the visitors’ chair.

Minato was more awake than he had been when Shinjiro last visited. He gave Shinjiro a long, considering look, then turned to Hamuko in a rapid flurry of signing. When he had the whole thought out, Hamuko said, “Mina-chan thinks Akihiko-senpai is someone who copes by trying to move on very quickly.”

“So, what, he had already come to terms with my death and now I’m rocking the new status quo?”

Minato repeated a sign with more emphasis, a wry expression on his face. Hamuko snorted. “He says the key word is _try_.”

“I’m a dropout, spell it out for me.”

“You dropped out because you were in a coma,” Hamuko said, outraged, even as Minato’s hands flicked back into action. The IVs had come out sometime in the last few days, and he could gesture more freely. Hamuko’s priority with her new freedom seemed to be solid food, namely all the melon bread Shinjiro had pawned off on her with which she was stuffing her face. “Okay, Mina-chan says… Senpai hasn’t really moved on, he just kind of repressed a lot and told himself he had and tried to keep going like things were fine? So now you’re here, and he has to deal with how _not_ okay he is, and everything’s kind of gross right now but it’s neither of your faults.”

“Did he use the word ‘gross’?” Shinjiro asked, dryly.

 _No_ , Minato said, elbowing his sister.

“Stop using asshole humor to deflect emotional problems,” Hamuko said. “This is how you losers get yourselves into these situations.”

Minato gave Shinjiro a helpless shrug. Shinjiro didn’t need perfect JSL to recognize _I would be a hypocrite to judge you but I’m not about to argue with her_.

 

Shinjiro’s note that night said, _Box lunch was Arisato-chan’s idea. In fridge, top shelf. Price of rejection is hurting her delicate feelings._

The lunch was simple enough, just what Shinjiro had been able to put together that would keep until lunch the next day. Some pickled carrots and daikon, some rice, a few hard-boiled eggs. Shinjiro _knew_ Akihiko was willing to eat all those things, so if he found that box in the fridge the next morning—

Well. He wouldn’t have to figure out what to do if he found it, because it was gone.

“Eat my ass,” Akihiko growled, when Shinjiro smirked at him while he was washing the box out in the kitchen sink that night.

“Can’t, my mouth is busy,” Shinjiro said. He shoveled an obnoxiously large spoonful of rice into his mouth and suggested, “Ma’e la’er.”

“You’re so fucking gross,” Akihiko snapped, but Shinjiro could see the stubborn beginnings of a real smile ghosting at his mouth. Akihiko ducked his head, probably hoping that the steam of the sink would hide his pink cheeks. What a loser.

There was nothing to be done but keep making him lunches.

 

The success with the lunches buoyed Shinjiro’s mood enough to risk repeating an earlier question. “Where do you go?”

Akihiko froze, empty lunch box still under the tap. Some hot water splashed up and onto his shirt. They both ignored it.

“What do you mean?”

“During the day. I know your classes still haven’t started yet,” Shinjiro said, drum-rolling his fingers against the counter. It had been a few days since Akihiko had started eating the boxed lunches, and Shinjiro wanted to believe he seemed like he was doing… a _little_ better. Talking a bit more, coming home a little bit earlier. “And you still haven’t gone to see the twins—“

“Little snitches,” Akihiko muttered, cranking the tap off so savagely it creaked.

“So where do you go?” Shinjiro repeated.

“I have a part-time job.”

“For eighteen hours a day?”

“...I’m doing some volunteering in the evenings.”

“You’re running yourself ragged is what you’re doing. What, are you that desperate to avoid my company?”

Akihiko stared down at the clean bento box. Shinjiro watched him carefully, gritting his teeth against his own impatience. This was what got them, every damn time they fought—after the first explosion, they couldn’t stop scraping at each other’s edges long enough to sort themselves out. Hamuko was right about that. They weren’t little kids any more, though. They had to learn how to be grown-ups about their problems.

“Don’t make me do this,” Akihiko finally said, voice small.

“Do wh—“ Shinjiro took a deep breath and ran his hands down his face. “Okay. You know what? Alright. Just...are you _okay?”_

Akihiko snorted as he toweled off the bento box. “What do you think?”

Well then.

 

Even with Shinjiro forcing bento boxes on him every day, Akihiko still looked horrible. The dark circles never left his eyes, he was almost never home at the apartment for longer than it took him to sleep, and Shinjiro accidentally caught him between the shower and his room once and could see the faint impression of his ribs. Akihiko had always been a little bit of a beanpole—not that Shinjiro had any room to judge—but then he was only gangly and awkward. Never skinny like this. It was killing Shinjiro to watch.

And for all the jokes Shinjiro had made in poor humor over the years, he never thought he would _actually_ have to say that he got along best with Aki when neither of them were talking. Some nights they didn’t say a word to each other, and whenever Shinjiro glanced Akihiko’s way, Akihiko was ignoring him with a clenched jaw and tight shoulders.

Something had to give, and soon.

 

A week before classes started again, someone banged on the door. Shinjiro instinctively looked to Akihiko. Akihiko looked back with the expression of a deer in the headlights. Shinjiro had a mouthful of rice and Akihiko was up to his elbows in soapy bubbles from washing dishes; neither was a good candidate for answering the door.

“Well, shit,” Shinjiro grumbled, around the rice, as the banging continued. “Fine, fine. I got it.”

“Sanada Akihiko!” Mitsuru yelled, murderously, through the door.

“I changed my mind, you got it,” Shinjiro told Akihiko.

“Traitor,” Akihiko said, under his breath, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he went to the door.

He yanked open the door suddenly enough that, to Shinjiro’s eternal delight, Mitsuru almost socked him in the face when she went to knock again.

“You!”

“What,” Akihiko said.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, you--” Mitsuru shoved her way inside, past him, then spotted Shinjiro. Shinjiro had expected some surprise, maybe an “oh hey, you’re alive, that’s nice I guess,” but instead Mitsuru’s expression turned even more homicidal. She whirled back around on Akihiko, jabbing a finger in Shinjiro’s direction. “Him!”

Akihiko went pale and still.

“I had to hear from the _twins_ that he was back! That he’s been back for weeks! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Hi to you too, Kirijo,” Shinjiro said. “I’ve been better, thanks for asking.”

“I do not need your sass right now,” Mitsuru seethed. Akihiko, who had somehow gone even paler, was looking between Mitsuru and Shinjiro with wide, terrified eyes. “Akihiko! You didn’t think I would want to know that our good friend and teammate was _alive?_ ”

Shinjiro didn’t know what he was expecting to come out of Akihiko’s mouth—more excuses, probably? The same ones he gave about visiting the twins? What he didn’t expect was this:

Akihiko said, voice smaller than Shinjiro had ever heard it, “You can see him, too?”

Oh.

“Oh, fuck,” Shinjiro said. All of the rage drained out of Mitsuru’s expression, leaving her to stare at Akihiko with equally wide eyes. Shinjiro’s first instinct was to deny that Akihiko meant anything by it, to accuse him of a mean-spirited prank. But no, Akihiko had never been one for jokes like this, and he was an awful liar anyway. Besides— “Oh, this explains so fucking much. I’m an idiot. _You’re_ an idiot. We’re both idiots.”

“You’re _real?_ ” Akihiko said, voice cracking.

“Akihiko,” Mitsuru said, this time much, much softer.

“I thought—“ Akihiko choked, reaching up to scrub at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I thought I was going crazy, that—that I was losing it, I—“

If he said anything else, Shinjiro didn’t hear it. It was drowned out by the echo chamber in his brain, replaying every odd thing Akihiko had said since he got back over and over again.

_I’m doing my best. Why won’t you leave me alone?_

_I don’t want you to go. That’s the problem._

_I shouldn’t be talking to you._

Minato’s thoughtful look as Hamuko said for him, _Senpai hasn’t really moved on, he just kind of repressed a lot and told himself he had._

Mitsuru took a tentative step forward, mouth forming words Shinjiro couldn’t hear. Tears streamed freely down Akihiko’s cheeks. He wouldn’t stop rubbing at his eyes. Stupid. He’d never been able to stop crying by doing that, not once in their entire lives. Mitsuru’s hand landed on his free arm, touch meant to comfort, and he jerked it back as though burned.

“Aki,” Shinjiro said. It came out hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Akihiko.”

Akihiko cried harder. When Shinjiro tried to come closer, alongside Mitsuru, he backpedaled until his shoulders slammed against the fridge. It shuddered with the impact.

“Please,” Akihiko whimpered. “I can’t do this again, it was—hard enough letting you go the first time—“

“Akihiko,” Shinjiro said again. He stepped in, just one stride away from Akihiko, and held out his hand. “It’s me. I’m real. I promise you, I’m real. I’m not going anywhere.”

Akihiko shivered, staring down at his hand.

“Look, Akihiko,” Mitsuru said. She came up behind Shinjiro and tugged on a lock of his hair. Shinjiro growled half-heartedly, smacking her hand away with the one not extended toward Akihiko. Mitsuru unrepentantly brought it back, this time to rest on his shoulder. “It’s alright. He’s right here. Alive and well and obnoxious.”

“What did I ever do to you? I haven’t even seen you in months.”

“Despite all odds, Akihiko _does_ have an excuse for not telling us you were back…which means _you’re_ the one who should have told me you were alive.”

“How is that fair?! I don’t even have a phone!”

“Life isn’t fair. Besides, you found Akihiko. Why not me?”

“And _I’m_ the annoying one? I got to you through the twins, didn’t I?”

Akihiko grabbed his hand.

Shinjiro and Mitsuru both fell silent, watching him. Mitsuru’s hand slid off Shinjiro’s shoulder. Akihiko’s fingers flexed against Shinjiro’s, gentle at first but gradually tightening into a death-grip. Shinjiro’s hand—as expected by Shinjiro and hopefully Mitsuru, but apparently not by Akihiko—didn’t disappear. Akihiko’s arm shook. Shinjiro, who had been stretched past his limit by about two and a half weeks, gave up and yanked him forward into a hug. Akihiko stumbled, yelping, but he didn’t fall and if Shinjiro had his way he never would again, because Shinjiro was there to catch him.

“Holy shit,” Akihiko whispered. He was close enough that his short, panicked breaths washed over Shinjiro’s face. He smelled like toothpaste. “Holy shit, holy—“

“It’s okay,” Shinjiro said. He pressed the words to Akihiko’s temple, holding him close as Akihiko wrapped his arms around Shinjiro’s back. Akihiko let out a muffled sob, burying his face in the crook of Shinjiro’s shoulder. “It’s okay, I got you. I’m real, this is real. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re not crazy.”

Akihiko made an odd, hiccupping sound that vaguely resembled laughter. Shinjiro snorted, keeping one arm around his waist as he brought the other up to rub Akihiko’s back. “Not that kind of crazy, anyway.”

“Jerk,” Akihiko said. His voice was completely shredded.

“That’s me,” Shinjiro said. He closed his eyes, head resting against Akihiko’s. “Number one non-ghost jerk.”

“I promised Yukari I would execute somebody for this,” Mitsuru said, ruefully. When did Takeba become Yukari? What else had Shinjiro missed because he didn’t have the decency to actually sit down and talk to Akihiko about how not-dead he was? “Now what am I going to tell her?”

“Go away,” Shinjiro said.

“Absolutely not. I haven’t gotten my own emotional reunion scene yet.”

Shinjiro twisted enough to give Mitsuru an incredulous look. She lifted her chin haughtily.

“I’m emotionally mature enough to admit I lamented your death.”

“I missed you too, you fucking weirdo,” Shinjiro said, dryly. “But I’m not gonna hug you. I’m too bony, nobody but Aki should have to deal with that.”

“You’re fine,” Akihiko mumbled.

“For heaven’s sake,” Mitsuru said. She swatted Shinjiro on the shoulder. “Men. Can’t handle anything by yourselves.”

“It’s too bad,” Shinjiro said. He patted Akihiko’s back, privately relieved he wasn’t expected to let go. Thank God Mitsuru didn’t wear her grief on her sleeve the way Akihiko did, the big crybaby. “Could’ve had a really exciting first day at Gekkoukan if you hadn’t come by.”

Akihiko hacked out another laugh-adjacent sound. Just hearing it made Shinjiro’s throat hurt sympathetically. Mitsuru made a noise of supreme irritation.

“Please. The student body doesn’t need to see Aigis chasing you down with a grenade launcher.”

“It’s not like that’s your problem anymore.”

“I’m not worried about the student body, I’m worried about Aigis. She’s always going to be my problem.”

“She’s her own problem,” Akihiko said. His voice was still thick with tears.

“She’s officially sponsored as a student by the Kirijo group,” Mitsuru said, long-sufferingly. “It would reflect badly on the company.”

“Sucks to suck, Kirijo.”

“How I wish I could say I already regret missing you,” Mitsuru said. She tugged on Shinjiro’s beanie before stepping back. “I’ll give you the rest of the morning to sort yourselves out, but I expect to see you this evening, do you understand me?”

“What for?”

“A reunion celebration at the Kirijo mansion. The underclassmen will all be there—we planned it as soon as we found out you were alive.” No wonder Mitsuru was taking Shinjiro’s resurrection in stride. She must have been able to talk through it with the kids already. She was probably saving her wrath for a time when Akihiko wouldn’t be collateral damage. “We persuaded the hospital staff to allow the Arisato twins a field trip. Iori already promised them a party.”

Shinjiro whistled. Considering the singularity of their condition, he wouldn’t have expected the hospital to let them wander any time soon. “You don’t half throw your weight around, do you?”

Mitsuru shrugged unapologetically. “It seems that the symptoms related to physical separation are unlikely to fade, and they’re otherwise greatly recovered. They’ll be ready to leave medical care soon enough. It shouldn’t hurt.”

“With our team, what could possibly go wrong?” Akihiko croaked. If his fingers tightened in Shinjiro’s shirt as he said it, Shinjiro wasn’t about to call him out for it. At least the crying had died down to occasional sniffles.

“I’d like to think we’ve all learned from the events of the last year,” Mitsuru said.

“Never accuse me of learning from my mistakes ever again,” Shinjiro said. Mitsuru rolled her eyes.

“I’m leaving now. I’ll text Akihiko the details. Aragaki, you make sure he actually reads them. Don’t make me hunt the pair of you down tonight, please.”

“Bossy,” Shinjiro said. “We’ll be there, quit fussing.”

With one last withering look, Mitsuru departed the apartment, closing the door resolutely behind herself.

“You’re a mess,” Shinjiro said. He tried to pull back; Akihiko let himself be dragged along instead of letting go. “Come on, we gotta get you cleaned up.”

“I mourned you,” Akihiko said. Shinjiro stopped trying to move and took a steadying breath. Right. Of course they weren’t going to skip the yelling part.

“Yeah, I could tell.”

“I went—I went to the hospital after we fought Nyx and you were gone. They couldn’t tell me anything.”

“I—“

“I thought you were _dead_. And then you showed up at the door and I thought—I thought I’d gone off the deep end—“

Shinjiro folded Akihiko closer against his body. Akihiko gripped at him, body beginning to shake with a fresh round of tears. Shinjiro would have to wash this shirt.

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ —don’t _ever_ do that again, Shinjiro—“

“I’m sorry—“

“I fucking _mourned you!_ ”

“I know, I’m sorry, Aki—“

“ _Sorry?!_ You told me that’s how it was _supposed_ to go!” Akihiko shouted. One of his hands balled up into a fist, slamming against Shinjiro’s back. Shinjiro wheezed, more from surprise than pain. “You made me watch you die in my arms! I had to feel your fucking _pulse_ stop, you bastard! They told me you were probably never going to wake up! And now you’re _sorry?!_ ”

“Akihiko—“

“Did you ever stop to think—to think about how your stupid kamikaze hero plan would make me feel? About how it would make Amada feel?!” Akihiko hit him again. “You stupid, stupid—he’s _eleven_ , and he felt responsible for your death! _Eleven!_ He ran away from the dorm afterwards! He was on the streets! Do you—how do you think I felt, with my best fucking friend dying in a coma and I couldn’t even protect the kid you died to save?!”

In retrospect, Shinjiro didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed the extremely large red flag of this conversation not happening earlier.

“You were _dead_ ,” Akihiko sobbed. “And I couldn’t—I couldn’t even—“

“I know,” Shinjiro said. He swallowed down the lump in his throat he didn’t have any right to feel. “I know. I’m sorry. It was—I should have talked to you.”

“You’re goddamn right you should have!” Akihiko’s voice hit a pitch Shinjiro hadn’t heard out of him since they were in middle school. “And now you’re back and you have been for nearly three weeks and I was too fucked up to even realize! You came back from the dead and I’ve just been a _dick_ to you for three weeks!”

Shinjiro startled himself by barking out a rough laugh. “All that and you’re mad that you hurt my feelings?”

“Shut up!” Akihiko smacked him again, much weaker this time. “You son of a bitch. I was _grieving_ for you.”

“I missed you,” Shinjiro said. He squeezed his eyes closed as tightly as he could, tucking his face into Akihiko’s hair. “More than anything. I know it’s my own damn fault—“

Akihiko hiccupped, pressing closer in response. Shinjiro wasn’t quite sure how that worked, seeing as they were already pressed together head to toe with no space between them, but he could at least tell the effort was being made.

“—And you deserved a better friend than me, but—“

“No, you stupid jackass,” Akihiko said, turning his head away to cough through the tears. “I deserved for you to be a better friend.”

“…Yeah. You did.”

“But I—“ Akihiko shoved his face back against Shinjiro’s neck. “…You deserved for me to be a better friend, too.”

“The hell are you talking about? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You were a scared kid,” Akihiko said. “Just like the rest of us. And I wasn’t there for you.”

“Because I wouldn’t let you.”

“I should’ve tried harder. It was my fault you got involved in the first place.”

“Don’t,” Shinjiro muttered. “Don’t go there, Aki. I made my own choices. You’re not the only stubborn bastard between the two of us.”

Akihiko sniffled. “Nobody ever said anything stupid like that.”

Shinjiro laughed again. Finally, Akihiko worked a hand between them to push Shinjiro back by the shoulder. He ducked his head like Shinjiro didn’t already know exactly how gross he looked right now.

“Sorry for crying all over you.”

“Sorry for almost dying.”

Akihiko punched him in the arm, scoffing and trying to hide the smile blooming on his face. “Shut up. You’re the worst.”

“I know, I know.”

“You’re buying me ramen for dinner every night this week. This _month_. You owe me.”

“That’s not compensation, that’s a fucking gift to myself. I’ll buy you anything you want for dinner if you stop eating so many instant noodles.”

“Then I want steak.”

Shinjiro shrugged. “Sure.”

Akihiko stared at him in disbelief. Shinjiro stepped away, but only far enough to reach over to grab a paper towel and wet it under the faucet.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I know how to cook steak. We can pick some up at the store. I told you, I have a part-time job now.”

He grabbed Akihiko by the chin and wiped at his face. Akihiko groaned plaintively and tried to squirm away.

“Ow, quit it. What are you, my mother?”

“Hold still. You’re disgusting.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Don’t complain about me acting like your mother if you’re gonna act like a little brat. Do you actually want steak, or do you just like pushing your luck?”

“Both,” Akihiko said, as Shinjiro finished wiping his face. When he moved to throw the paper towel out, Akihiko caught him by the wrist. “You’ll really make me steak?”

“Yeah. Why are you so surprised?”

“You never cook for me.”

“Did you not just hear yourself give me a laundry list of my sins? I don’t think even a steak is gonna cut it.”

“I don’t…” Akihiko huffed, somewhere between a tired laugh and a sigh. “Shinji, you’re alive. That’s already more than I thought I could have. If you just…just try not to make the same mistakes. That’s all I want. Talk to me, talk to Amada, try to take better care of yourself. You don’t really need to buy my forgiveness.”

Shinjiro glanced down. Akihiko’s hold on his wrist was light, compared to the octopus-like stranglehold he’d had on Shinjiro earlier. He looked back up at Akihiko’s face—eyes shadowed with exhaustion, lashes crusty with dried saline—and knew he was screwed, same as he always had been, because he still thought the ridiculously earnest expression Akihiko wore was handsome.

There was something about having a second chance at life. It made him want to do stupid things, like follow up on old regrets.

“But it would be so much easier,” he said. He passed the paper towel off to his other hand and turned the wrist Akihiko was holding so their hands were palm-to-palm. Akihiko twitched, caught off guard. He looked from Shinjiro’s face to their hands, not quite intertwined, and back up again.

“You—Shinji.”

“Yeah.”

“For real?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Say it.”

Shinjiro groaned. Where was Akihiko’s hot-blooded impulsive streak when he needed it? He had hoped Akihiko would just take his hand and that would be that. Should have known he was in over his head when Aki turned down the free steak. “Really?”

Akihiko glowered at him. “Yes, really. I told you. You have to talk to me.”

“You already know what I mean!”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Can’t be sure unless you tell me.”

“Asshole,” Shinjiro said. “You just don’t wanna be the one who says it first.”

“I don’t wanna be the one who thinks one thing is happening for three weeks until someone points out something completely different is happening,” Akihiko said, sharply, making Shinjiro wince. Alright then. He set himself up for that one. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“Fine. Okay. Akihiko, I…” Akihiko raised his eyebrows expectantly. Fuck this. “Quit looking at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you any kind of way.”

“Yes, you are. It’s _annoying_.”

“If you’re too chicken, you can always give up,” Akihiko drawled. Shinjiro narrowed his eyes, tossed the paper towel to the counter, and seized Akihiko’s hand in both of his. The son of a bitch had the audacity to look startled.

“Akihiko. I’ve been in love with you since we were in middle school. I know I fucked up, but will you give me another chance and go out with me?”

“I…” Akihiko gaped at him, then laughed helplessly, scratching at his jaw with his free hand. “I didn’t think you would really do it.”

“Then you’re even dumber than I thought you were.”

“Are you joking? I just had to bully you into even starting, and I’m the asshole for thinking you wouldn’t go through with it?”

“I would’ve gotten around to it eventually,” Shinjiro said, crossly.

“Maybe,” Akihiko said. He hesitantly brought his other hand to clasp over Shinjiro’s. “Or maybe it would’ve been the next friendship crisis.”

“Who’s been giving you emotional communication lessons? I need to have a talk with them.”

“If you think you can take Hamuko-chan and Arisato in a fight, be my guest.”

“Goddammit,” Shinjiro said. “I can’t.”

“Nobody can,” Akihiko said, looking exhausted and amused in equal measures. “That’s why I stopped going to visit them after you showed up. Didn’t think I could handle the interrogation. They’re like little vultures.”

“They’re not so bad.”

“You think that,” Akihiko said, “Because you think Hamuko-chan is pretty.”

“I—“ Shinjiro spluttered. He did, a little, but he wasn’t—he’d been pining after Akihiko too long for it to be more than a minor fact about her. “I don’t—where did that come from? What are you—are you _jealous?_ ”

“Of—of course not!”

“You are!” Shinjiro yanked him into range, despite Akihiko’s complaints and shoves, so he could put him in a headlock. Akihiko kicked at his shin ineffectively. He wasn’t putting up much of a fight. Loser probably wanted the excuse to hide his face. “You haven’t even given me an answer yet! You don’t get to be jealous!”

“I’m not jealous!”

“You liar! Is that why you were so pissy with me in September?!”

“I was not pissy with you in September!” Shinjiro couldn’t see his face anymore, but Akihiko’s ears were completely red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Let me go!”

“No way, this is fucking gold,” Shinjiro said. “I’m gonna tell her about this. She’ll think it’s hysterical.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Oh, you don’t want that? Then you better figure out a way to distract me quick, because—“

Akihiko wrestled his way out of the headlock, shoved Shinjiro up against the kitchen counter and kissed him full on the mouth.

“Ow,” Shinjiro said, because there had been too much momentum and teeth involved. Then he said, “I actually meant by giving me a verbal answer.”

“Oh,” Akihiko said, looking mortified. He tried to step back out of Shinjiro’s space. Shinjiro grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him back in.

“I didn’t say _stop_.”

Akihiko gave him a dirty look, but he still brought his hands up to frame Shinjiro’s face, cupping his jaw. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that a time or two before,” Shinjiro said. “I get it a lot from my boyfriend.”

“B-boyfriend?!” Akihiko squawked.

“Did you kiss me because you meant _no?_ ” Shinjiro demanded, exasperated. “Or—fuck, Aki, give me something to go off here—“

“Shut up!” Akihiko slapped a hand over his mouth. “Shut up, just—shut up!”

Shinjiro glared at him and valiantly resisted the urge to lick his hand. He willed himself to be patient. _He thought I was dead until about forty-five minutes ago_ , he reminded himself. It was a sobering thought. When he thought about it that way, forty-five minutes between _dead best friend_ and _boyfriend_ , it was a small wonder that Akihiko was giving him mixed signals.

“I’m in love with you,” Shinjiro said, again, because he didn’t know what else to do. It had some effect—Akihiko’s hand slowly dropped from his face. Shinjiro caught it in his own. “I don’t—don’t really know what else you need from me right now. Sorry. I can back off if this is too much.”

“…Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t back off,” Akihiko said. He was staring at the counter behind Shinjiro, nowhere near his eyes, and none of the crimson flush had left his cheeks. But he squeezed Shinjiro’s hand back. “I’m…yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Shinjiro dipped his head enough to bump their foreheads together. Akihiko leaned into it, eyes sliding closed.

“Hey,” Shinjiro said, just to be a shit. “I’m not sure what that means. Talk to me.”

“I’m going to drop kick you out a window,” Akihiko said, very seriously, and Shinjiro guffawed. He couldn’t stop even when Akihiko punched him in the arm again. “You suck. I have awful taste.”

“Do you?”

“I really do,” Akihiko said. This time, when he leaned in to kiss Shinjiro, it was chaste and simple, and there were no painful facial collisions. Still a bit awkward, but Shinjiro figured that kind of thing improved with practice. Akihiko shook his head when they pulled apart. “Yeah. I’ll date you, you jerk.”

“Very romantic,” Shinjiro said. “I’m swooning.”

“You should be so lucky,” Akihiko said.

“Already am,” Shinjiro said, pleasantly. Akihiko made a sound of horror.

“Oh, God, _you’re_ the romantic one.”

“I sure am.”

“What have I gotten myself into?”

“Guess you’ll have to stick along for the ride and find out,” Shinjiro said, and Akihiko’s expression softened as he let their foreheads fall together again.

“Guess I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> :3c as always, i deeply appreciate and hoard any comments and concrit/feedback you care to give!  
> title comes from the lyrics of Avalanche by Walk the Moon


End file.
